


How to melt an ice cold heart

by obviouslyelementary



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Five Times, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Uncle Mycroft, good uncle Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 11:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9437945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obviouslyelementary/pseuds/obviouslyelementary
Summary: Five times Rosie Watson was all Mycroft Holmes needed, and once he was finally useful to her.





	

Rosie Watson had followed her father’s footsteps exactly as predicted, while keeping her mother’s grace and intelligence. She was the sweetest baby anyone could ever have seen, specially in that family of weirdos where no one escaped any kind of weird mind, not even John himself. She was a normal baby, with a happy smile and rosy cheeks and a laugh that made everyone coo. Rosie was the light of that place, of their world, and they couldn’t be more thankful for her.

Weirdly enough, as she grew, she also turned to the person that no one expected her to. Not John, her dad and who loved her more than all; not Sherlock, her weird uncle/dad that played with her and told impossibly unimaginable things; not Molly, her aunt who loved walking around in parks and talking about flowers; not miss Hudson, her granny, who made her special food and always bought her new dresses; not even Lestrade, her far apart uncle, who barely visited but when did, brought the most wonderful gifts and played with her all afternoon. None of them could take the little girl’s attention like Mycroft Holmes, the Ice Man, the British Empire.

He, in all humanity, was the person that Rosie liked the most.

It was easy, the first times around, when Mycroft saw her, because she was still a baby and they all thought she was just fascinated by the stranger that talked hard words. She was always staring at him with her bright blue eyes, sometimes giggling and sometimes serious. All the times it happened, Mycroft freaked out a bit because he did not know what to do to take that little human’s eyes off him. 

And worst yet, a part of him didn’t want her to look away.

But the thing was obvious to everyone that had eyes, something even Lestrade could figure out (like Sherlock loved to say), and obviously that he was exactly the one that did make the first attempt to bring the two closer.

Mycroft should have realized sooner and just left the room before it was too late. However he was worrying over some very important British documents on his computer when Inspector Lestrade made his way through the living room, holding the baby on his arms and quickly placing her over Mycroft’s computer without asking any kind of permission. The fact that all of them were invited for the Holmes’ special Christmas dinner that year made nothing to Mycroft’s nerves, and everything had just become even harder when a baby was put between him and his work.

“I have to go off to find Sherlock and John is doing groceries. Take care of her for a second. The rest are all outside in case you really don’t want to spend time with her” the Inspector said, winking at the taller man who was still staring to a baby’s eyes while he should be staring at a computer screen. Only after Lestrade had left the house that Mycroft was able to slowly pick the baby up and slide the computer away, only to place the baby again on his legs.

Oh well...

“Hello, Rosemund Watson” he said, cordially, because even though he had a bit of experience with babies, he hadn’t had to carry one since he was eight years old, which was a long time ago. She stared back at him, no words or sounds coming from her mouth, her blue eyes reminding him a lot of both Mary and John. It was a shame to have lost an agent like Mary in such a stupid way, but he understood her motives.

After everything they had gone through, he finally realized he wasn’t the only one willing to die for his little brother anymore.

Not realizing he had lost himself in thought, he felt surprised when Rosie reached out to touch his cheek. Fighting back the want to pull away, he let the small child feel his face, even though he had guessed she would be just like the others kids he had seen: dirty, ruthless, unorganized and indelicate. However, as her small fingers continued to trace pathless ways through his cheeks, he noticed that she was being extremely careful, almost as if she felt his discomfort of being touched. Then, after she was done, she bopped his nose with one of her little fingers, probably like John or Lestrade had taught her, before letting out giggles of joy, staring at him with those blue bright eyes.

Right there and then, she did not look like John or Mary, but just like Sherlock and Eurus when he had first held them and those bright blue eyes stared at him with wonder.

And besides all of them knowing his heart was not made of ice at all, at that moment he felt something else crack, and a warmness filling his lungs. Something that gladly soon ended with John’s arrival and his series of apologies for bothering Mycroft’s work. He did not say anything, but he accompanied the little girl’s eyes as she left in her father’s arms, always watching Mycroft.

 

After that first glance, Mycroft really felt like that was something worth keeping. He knew what was sibling love and he knew that wasn’t it, but it was love all the same, and now at least he could try to make it right what he couldn’t before, because now he was older and wiser and he owned Britain. Still, he could not see Rosie too much, and only in his spare visits and the Christmas parties they could actually interact. That was, of course, until once when he was on vacation (or as much of a vacation as the British Government can get) and Sherlock called, telling him he should look at his front door.

Confused and not slightly amused, Mycroft did as asked, and his eyes widened as he saw a small girl wrapped in blankets, snoring over a car seat for babies. When he asked, Sherlock said she would spend some days in her uncle’s Mycroft house because John and him were in the middle of a dangerous case that involved anyone else. So slowly and not gladly, Mycroft took the baby inside and called Andrea so she could bring everything a baby might need. Then, he ordered a crib and sat down on his chair with the small baby still on her own, placed carefully over the couch.

Sherlock and Watson were going mad, and they were turning to him to take care of a baby. He wondered, for a moment, if death would be as bad as this.

Not soon after that, Rosie woke up with a soft yawn and looked around, confused for a second until her eyes met Mycroft. He stood still, staring, until she started to giggle and reach out for him.

“Myc! Myc!” she squealed, contently, and for a second Mycroft was frozen in place. That was Sherlock’s nickname for him when they were children. They had taught Rosie how to say his name.

He stopped himself of going further into the sentiment and got up, slowly unlocking her and picking her up on his arms. 

“Your father gives me headaches” he complained, raising an eyebrow when she started to giggle again, holding tightly onto his suit. Then, he let a small smile appear on his face. “You really aren’t that bad. Soon enough, I’ll have toys to amuse you. For now I think I will tell you a story”

Her wide smile was more than enough evidence of her silent ‘yes’.

 

After the day she spent there (which was supposed to be a week or two when John actually found out with who he had left Rosie with), the two became close, but obviously not even as close as Mycroft wanted. Luckily, for some reason, the little girl felt quite safe in his hands, and trusted him for almost anything. Still, she was a child, and very likely to forget everything quickly, specially after spending months without seeing him. So he was not hoping for anything when the Christmas day came and they were all reunited once again.

It was now a tradition, one he was slowly but surely getting used to, specially when he saw his parents and Sherlock’s happiness to see all their ‘friends’ reunited.

Quickly enough, the exchange of gifts came, and with them came the games. It was also a tradition now to give presents to Sherlock and Mycroft so they could find out through deductions from who the present was, what it was and whom it was for. Usually Mycroft would win, but it didn’t spoil the fun for some reason, specially for little Rosie, who loved to watch them deduct everything at all times.

“There is one less present for you two to figure out” Mommy said as she reached for a small present under the tree. She winked at small Rosie, who was really learning fast the power of speech, before she placed the flat present on the table in front of them. Obviously both Mycroft and Sherlock knew who it was from, because Mommy had given it away, however the present was flat and could be anything from a piece of paper to a joke of a simply folded present paper. 

Mycroft and Sherlock begun their deductions, obviously making some things up to pretend they didn’t know it was Rosie, and Mycroft let his brother win on that one just to see the little girl giggling as she squealed ‘uncle Shewlock!’ in that sweet voice of hers. Then, they began the real deductions to what it was and for who it would be.

Mycroft’s first guess would be a drawing made by Rosie to her father John, but soon discarded it as he saw John’s face. He was clearly amused, curious. All of them were, except Mommy. She knew everything because Rosie trusted her to tell. Mommy would have told John right away. It wasn’t for him. It was someone Mommy really wanted to surprise. Which left him with Sherlock and himself.

“My deductions are over, little brother” he said, crossing his arms and smirking. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared at him, waiting for his answer, clearly not amused that he hadn’t been quick enough. “This is a drawing made by Rosemary Watson to give to her favorite uncle, you” he said, nodding to Sherlock and making him chuckle softly. 

“Is he right?” John asked, curious, to his daughter, and she stared at Mycroft for a long time before shaking her head and rushing to grab the present.

“He is wong” she said, loudly, and then giggled to herself at Mycroft’s perplexed face. She walked to him and reached out, handing him the gift. “Happy Chwismas uncle Myc”

The revelation did not only leave Mycroft in shock, but everybody in the entire room. The little girl was holding out the present expectantly, her eyes wide and blue and bright, and it took Mycroft’s entire being to move and reach down to take the small present in his hands. She waited anxiously for him to open it up, and he did, delicately, like any rip or uncaring touch could break the small girl in front of him. Once he was done, he noticed at least something was right. It was a nicely folded paper, and as he opened it, a drawing came to view. A drawing of a big man holding an umbrella and a small girl wearing a floral dress. The drawing was terrible, a child’s drawing, but his heart tightened and the warmth filled his chest once again.

“It is you an me” she said, slowly, trying to make all the words sound perfect, because she knew Mycroft wasn’t fond of incorrect pronunciations. Then, she moved a bit closer and hugged one of his legs. “Love you, uncle Myc”

There were no coos, no words or sounds proffered in that room. After a long moment of painful silence, Mycroft kneeled down to stay face to face with the small girl and hold her small hands.

“I do not know why, but I trust your words” he said softly, a small smile creeping up on his face. “I love you too, little Rose. My wonderful niece”

At that, the girl let out a happy and full of warmth giggle, jumping on him and hugging him tightly. She nuzzled against his shoulder, content, and smiled wider when he rose to his feet while holding her up. He tried not to notice the rest of the room while everyone inside stared at him like they had just seen a puppy barking for the first time. This was not about his personal embarrassment but about the small girl in his arms that had finally, finally Christmas mean something for him.

And he couldn’t be gladder that she didn’t leave him alone for a second after that.

 

After that Christmas, Mycroft tried to make more visits to 221B Baker Street or to invite Sherlock and John out for a family dinner. He didn’t even make excuses anymore, knowing that they would send Rosie anyway even if they were busy. His limousines would pick her up either way. 

The two became really close really fast, because she was just as smart as Mary, but just as sweet as John, which made the perfect combination for Mycroft, because even though he knew she would never truly learn like himself or Eurus or even Sherlock did, she would learn eventually, and he could teach her slowly and tell her curiosities that no one had wanted to know before. After all, even when Sherlock was amazed by everything Mycroft did, they still had brotherly rivalries. With Rosie, he was nothing more than a huge encyclopedia that talked and made up stories. 

She looked up to him, wanted to be like him, was interested in politics and always wanted to participate in his reunions or working days more than she wanted to watch her father and uncle/dad (and she called Sherlock) solving crimes.

And most important, Mycroft finally had a distraction for too stressing days.

“Uncle Mycroft! I learned how to divide today!” Rosie said as she ran from the kitchen of Mycroft’s house. He watched her from his chair, over the book he was reading, as she ran to him and stopped with a bar of chocolate in her small hands. “One divided by two equals half!” she said proudly, and then handed her uncle half of the bar before she took a huge bite of her own.

“Do not exaggerate” he said, his voice warning, but that only made her giggle and sit in front of him, eyes wide as she ate piece after piece of her half bar or chocolate. “You are just as bad as me”

“Uncle dad said that when you were young you were over... over weight... overweight. That you got thinner when you were a teenager. Was it because you wanted a girlfriend?” she asked, wondering, and Mycroft had to hold back a laugh of amusement as he placed the bar next to him on a small table.

“I did not have friends when I was a teenager, neither girlfriends or boyfriends. I did not have the interest to die soon because of an avoidable disease like diabetes. Nothing about the major public” he explained, and she nodded, continuing to eat her chocolate.

“I want a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend” she said, slowly, almost as if she was considering it all. He smiled and waited for her to reach her own conclusion. “Or maybe just girlfriends”

“You are too young to think about such matters. It is not because your father cannot keep one woman that you should worry about get one for yourself” he said, wisely, and she nodded, eyes sparkling.

“You still think that dad and uncle dad should be together?” Rosie asked, and Mycroft laughed before nodding slowly to the small girl in front of him.

“They are almost married, aren’t they? The time will come, sweetheart” he said, before standing up and putting his book down. “Now I think it is time for you to go to bed. Tomorrow we have a big day in the palace”

Rosie didn’t have to be told twice before she rushed to her bedroom, being followed by a slow but content Mycroft that simply watched as the small thing ran to the room he had made just for her.

 

Weirdly enough, Rosie ended up loving exactly the contrary of his little brother. While Sherlock had always had a fascination for pirates, Rosie loved watching The Little Mermaid and wished she could be a mermaid herself. And it was fun for him to watch, in those short moments when the family was reunited, Sherlock pretending to be an enchanted pirate, in love with the little mermaid that always ran after him.

She would be a wonderful mermaid. She had already conquered Mycroft’s heart of ice. The rest would be ridiculous for her.

“Uncle Myc!” the young girl said as she ran to him from teh Holmes’ kitchen. He looked up and smiled, putting his book away. “Uncle! Take me to the lake!”

“Rosie. Do not bother Mycroft” he heard John saying, and soon he was coming out of the kitchen with a strict face. Mycroft stood up and quickly shook his head.

“No problem, doctor. Come on Rose” he said, making her giggle at the nickname that only he called her. She took his hand without being asked and pulled him through the house to the door. He followed with no complain, not looking back to avoid John’s fond smile. He still hated when people treated him like a softy, even though that was exactly what he had become after that seven years old wonder.

They walked to the lake talking about nothings, Mycroft teaching the small girl about the plants and animals they saw on the way. She was always keen to learn, her curious eyes and ears taking everything in and her skillful mouth asking always the right questions. She was very smart. Mycroft never got bored of teaching her.

“Uncle Myc... Do you think mermaids will or were, once, real?” she asked as they reached the lake, both sitting by some dry rocks and staring at the calm water. Mycroft thought for a bit before he nodded.

“All stories have a drop of truth, don’t they?” he asked, raising an eyebrow to Rosie, who giggled contently and nodded back, picking a pebble and throwing it on the lake. 

“You have already told me a lot of stories. About wonderful places and beasts, about dad and father, about my aunts and uncle Greg, about grandma and grandpa. But you never tell me about you. Why is that uncle?” she asked, curiously, staring at him as if he was the answer to all of her questions.

He really hoped he could be, if she ever needed.

“Well... I am not used to telling people things about me. They are never interested in the Ice Man” he said, smiling down at her, no resentment in his voice. He understood. Indeed, he wasn’t very interesting. She frowned at that and shook her head, moving closer and leaning against him.

“Well, you can start telling me. Or we will never come back home” she said, firmly, and after a soft sigh, he nodded. Well, soon she would be bored anyway.

“Fair enough. When I was born...” he started, staring at the lake as he told his little niece his entire story, the parts no one knew, the parts he had kept to himself. He made everything ten times lighter than it actually was, but she was only seven. There were things she wasn’t ready to listen, obviously. Yet, she listened carefully, asking questions and giggling or frowning. She reacted to it all like it was a very interesting story, and that warmed him a bit. The sun was already low when he finally finished. “And now we are all here, and I am telling my story to my favorite niece” he said, and she giggled, looking up at him with bright eyes and red cheeks.

“I am your only niece” she said, and he nodded, shrugging.

“Still my favorite” he said, and she giggled before hugging him and sighing contently.

“You’re my favorite uncle too. You should tell people your story more often. It is very amusing” she said, calmly staring at the lake while still hugging her uncle. “You are really cool”

And he knew that, to the contrary of that affirmation, he felt very warm as he hugged the little girl back.

“Time to go back home”

 

Mycroft sighed as he waited for Rosie outside from her school building. The twelve-year-old girl was probably talking to her friends or teacher, because she was taking long and several students had already left. He continued leaning against a tree next to his car (a normal one, for once), keeping his distance in a place he knew she would see but could easily avoid if she didn’t want to be seen with him around her friends.

He remembered Sherlock doing that quite often, so he couldn’t be more careful.

After another few minutes of waiting, he cursed John and Sherlock for being in a case and not being able to pick their daughter up at school. Obviously that one of the others could have come, or he could simply ask Andrea to pick her up in the limousine, but she was his niece and he really didn’t trust any of his subordinates that much. He just wished she would come out quick and all of that would be over.

Soon enough after he complained, she appeared outside the building with three other friends, two girls and a boy, all of them laughing and talking. He straightened himself up but kept quiet, waiting for her to see him. And when she did, he expected her to say goodbye or just pretend she hadn’t and move along.

He did not expect Rosie to smile like she did or call her friends over to where he was.   
“Uncle Myc! Uncle Myc!” she said, from far away, being followed by her confused but excited friends. He held back from deducing anything as she jumped on him and hugged him tight before pulling back and nodding at her friends. “I told you! This is my uncle, Mycroft Holmes!”

“Wow... The legends are true” the boy said, eyes wide, and then he groaned when one of the girls slapped his head.

“He’s no legend, dumbass” she complained, and then all of them turned to stare at him. “It is a pleasure to meet Britain’s head man. I am Charlotte” the girl that slapped the boy said, grinning.

“I am Alice” the other girl said, waving contently.

“Michael” the boy said, while still rubbing the back of his head. “Pleasure”

“It’s my pleasure” Mycroft said politely, before turning to his niece. “Time to go, Rose. You will spend the afternoon in my house and your parents will pick you up at eight” he said, and she bit her lip, silently moving her foot over the dirty. He raised one eyebrow. “Your friends can come, if you wish” he added, a bit hesitantly, and she squealed, nodding and smiling at them. “Do you want me to call their parents?”

“Already did” Rosie said, shrugging and smiling. “Thanks uncle!” she added as she climbed inside with her friends, all of them giggling and talking about seeing inside Britain’s house. Mycroft chuckled as he got in, driving off in silence and letting Rosie put whatever song she wished on the radio.

And he could only smile as he watched the way she smiled at him, like he was the most important man in the world (even though he actually was).

 

Mycroft had been working for the entire afternoon and now he was finally resting. The book he was reading was so interesting that he hadn’t realized he hadn’t eaten dinner and neither that it was past midnight already. It was very hard to see him as relaxed as he was at the moment, but there he was, in a calm night, enjoying a good book by the fireplace.

That was, obviously, until he heard the doorbell.

With a light frown, he stood up and walked to the door, checking the window. It was raining. It meant that it was probably a very desperate co-worker or maybe Sherlock needing something for a case. When he opened the door, however, he was face to face with his seventeen-year-old niece, all drenched, clothes filled with mud, face red and eyes puffy.

That surely wasn’t good for his old heart.

“Uncle Myc?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she sniffled. “Sorry that I jumped over the porch. It was raining and I just really wanted to see you” she continued, biting her lip, clearly holding back more tears. Mycroft nodded slowly, letting her inside with a worried face. He asked nothing right away, simply letting her go upstairs to change while he made some hot chocolate for her. When she came down, wearing some pajamas and wrapped in a blanket, he sat next to her on the couch, giving the mug to her. She sipped on it quietly, curled up against him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Rose. Why are you here?” he asked, and she already knew what he meant. ‘Why here and not at your father’s? What did you do? What did they do?’. She sighed.

“I can’t go home. Dad will be angry. He told me to be careful, but I didn’t listen” she said, sniffling again and closing her eyes while Mycroft gently rubbed her arm. “You probably already know what happened. You can deduce” she added, biting her lip.

“Yes I can, though I would rather have you tell me” he said, knowing that sometimes speaking about it was better than holding back. Rosie took a deep breath before sitting up and looking down at her hot chocolate.

“I was meeting Lindsey today, to surprise her” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes as she remembered. Mycroft kept staring at her, but said nothing. “After all, she is travelling tomorrow to her birthday party. But when I arrived at her house, she was... She was with someone else” she mumbled, her eyes filling up with tears again. “I didn’t wait for an explanation. I should have listened to dad” she whimpered, putting the mug away to cry against her hands. Mycroft watched her before pulling her to a hug. She held onto him like a lifeboat and cried against his shoulder. 

Mycroft said nothing, because there was nothing to be said, and when she finally fell asleep, he texted his little brother to assure him Rosie was safe. Then, he took her to her bed slowly, glad he was still strong enough to hold her up, and tucked her in just like he did since she was small. He watched her for a while before going to his own bed.

And he swore that if she wanted, Lindsey would never have any other lover for the rest of her life, because no one that hurt his little niece would get free easily. But knowing that she was safe was enough for now.

After all, Rosie could always count with her uncle Mycroft, just like he knew he could always count with that blond wonder to make the world a bit brighter.


End file.
